


It Takes a Village

by GoggledMonkey



Category: Three Men and a Baby (1987)
Genre: Multi, Polyamory, Polygamy, this story totally ignores the sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 08:59:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8884867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoggledMonkey/pseuds/GoggledMonkey
Summary: It only takes basically Mary's entire childhood for the four of them to admit they were in a relationship.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lyricalnights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalnights/gifts).



> Merry Yuletide lyricalnights! Thanks for the prompt. I hope that this has everything you wanted.

 

**It's 1987 and Mary is 7 months old.**

Mary is beautiful.

Mary is, actually, the most beautiful baby in the world and Sylvia doesn't just think this because she's Mary's mother; it's an irrefutable fact. It's not just Mary's soft chubby cheeks or the dimple she gets when she smiles. It's not even her tiny little hands, each perfect finger ending in a minuscule silver moon nail. Or how when Mary laughs it bubbles out of her like water pure and precious.

Maybe it's the weight of Mary when she's in Sylvia's arms.  -Or the smell, yes maybe the sweet but mysterious smell that only appears when Sylvia kisses the top of Mary's head.

When Mary was born, she weighed 6 pounds 2 ounces with blue eyes and a red face. A nurse at the hospital, who called both Mary and Sylvia "Sugar", helped get the baby to latch and her enthusiasm made Sylvia think, ‘I can do this.'

Of course, everything went pear-shaped as soon as Sylvia took her baby home. Sylvia was sore and bleeding, Mary wouldn't latch, Mary was a fussy eater and Mary cried and cried and cried and cried. All the good things like the cheeks, the dimple, and the laugh got buried under long hours and non-stop crying.

When she left Mary on Jack's doorstep Sylvia had only wanted to sleep. Without Mary Sylvia slept in abundance for months living but not being alive. Holding Mary was like coming back to life.

After the choice she's made the offer of a home and help is like a dream come true. Sylvia doesn't have to slink back to her parent's house in shame. She doesn't have to be away from Mary. She doesn't have to be alone. Sylvia knows that abandoning your child makes you the worst monster in the world so it's slightly disconcerting how perfectly everything is turning out.

The problem, of course, is that the last time Sylvia thought maybe I can do this…

She couldn't.

Things always go pear-shaped. But it's even worse in America because there, shit hits the fan.

Sylvia can't sleep.

She should sleep because she is tired. The word exhausted doesn't even encompass how worn her body feels. It's been too long of no sleep, poor eating, crying, and wringing herself inside out. But she is back with her baby. The flat she'd been invited to is beautiful and sophisticated, the bed they set her up in is soft, Mary is fat and happy and these men seem kind but it's not going to work.

And what's going to happen to Sylvia then?

When Mary cries it's a relief, anything to stop her from staring at the ceiling. Muscle memory taking charge, Sylvia swings her legs out of bed and follows the sounds of her daughter. In her gut is the familiar dread the wail bring echoing too many sleepless nights. But by the time Sylvia reaches the bassinette Mary's cries has slowed to hiccups.

The man, Peter, has Mary cradled against his chest skin to skin swaying them together as he sings a lullaby. His voice is sleep rough and he's stuck on the same few lines of Earth Angel: _"My darling dear, Love you all the time. I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you"_

The whole scene hits something at Sylvia's core and she can only stare blankly. That there is this stranger, someone with no blood obligations cradling Mary caring for her. Sylvia can feel some of the ever-present dread fading away into a feeling of relief. Because this is what she wanted. Help. But at the same time, it’s so odd and jarring because that's her daughter, and this man loves her and Sylvia doesn't even know him.

He looks up finally and starts when he sees Sylvia staring at them.

"Oh, sorry did we wake you? I thought I was fast enough," he yawns, and gives her a pleasant smile, "Did you sleep?"

"You're very good with her," Sylvia says instead of answering. When she holds her arms out for Mary it's her own question _will you give her back to me?_

He does, but something in the back of Sylvia's mind wonders if people should keep handing Mary back to her. Mary looks up at her eye wide and alert. Such a beautiful baby, Sylvia doesn't even deserve her.

"Are you hungry, sweetheart?"

"I'll make her up a bottle. Come on."

In the kitchen, Sylvia watches him as he warms up a bottle on the stove. He looks over his shoulder with a hesitant smile. 

"See? It'll work great you with us three," he says it like he's still trying to sell her on the idea as if Sylvia has a plan that's better, like Sylvia makes rational decisions at all. She'd really like someone to call her out for the monster she obviously is. Something pops deep inside her and instead of replying or saying anything at all Sylvia starts crying again the hot tears sliding out of her.

She's making eye contact with Peter when it happens and she can see, before her vision blurs, that wide-eyed look of terror one gets when a crazy lady starts sobbing hysterically in front of you.

"Shit," he says then, "shit," again when the bottle falls back to the pot splashing him. It's funny, him flicking water off himself looking at her horrified but instead of laughing she cries more clutching Mary too tight.  Mary starts wailing.

"Shit, shit, shit," he says again then, "hey hey, it's ok, it's ok," to Mary or maybe Sylvia. He trades Mary for a dishcloth and Sylvia hides her face,

"I'm sorry,' he says inexplicably.

This time Sylvia manages a laugh and looks up at him and Mary over the dishcloth, "I think I could handle this better if you weren't so nice to me."

"I don't think being cruel would be very helpful."

"I'd deserve it."

He turns back to the bottle instead of answering deftly drips a few drops on his wrist before popping the bottle in Mary's mouth. He looks down at Mary instead of Sylvia.

"You know, we didn't do so hot when we got Mary and there were more of us."

"But she isn't your daughter." He winces and they fall into an awkward silence punctuated by Mary sucking in her bottle.

"I love her." He says, not making eye contact like it's awkward to say, as if it's not completely obvious when he looks at Mary, "We all do."

"Thank you," it's not quite right but it's what she has, "I love her so much but I can't…I'm just scared."

"Hey, it's ok." He kneels down to look her in the eyes, "I know this is crazy. But I really think the four of us can really do this."

He holds out his hand like they should shake on it. And it's like standing on the edge of a cliff with rocks or water at the bottom. You just couldn't know.

"The four of us." She repeats back. "Ok. Yes." 

She takes his hand and steps off the cliff.

 

**It's 1988 and Mary is a week from her first birthday.**

It's January and it's snowing. Michael ignores the fat fluffy flakes as he trudges home letting them collect on his shoulders and hair. They start to melt as soon as he enters the apartment building and by the time the elevator reaches their foyer he's wet and miserable which is a fitting reflection of how he feels inside.

The others are waiting inside for him. Sylvia and Peter are pretending they weren't waiting. Peter doesn't even look up from his performance of _This Little Piggy_ and Sylvia gives Michael a very aloof wave somehow unable to tear herself away from last month’s Sport's Illustrated.

Jack has no sort of subtle compulsion and he bounds over, grin on his face, before Michael even closes the front door.

"There he is, the big shot!" Jack brushes what remains of the snow out Michael's hair then helps his coat off with more force than necessary like a bad butler, "So? Did you do it?"

Michael throws himself dramatically on the couch in response and makes a groaning sound akin to a wounded water buffalo.

"I'll take that as a yes," Peter says dryly.

"Well? So? Tell us about it!" Jack plops himself right on Michael's legs poking him unjustly hard it the lower back. "Don't leave us in suspense here!"

Michael groans again so Jack pokes harder. Finally, if only to get Jack to stop, Michel raises his head.

"I'm a sellout," he moans.

"Yes!" Jack pumps his fist then yelps as Michel turns onto his back, kicking Jack in the process quite deliberately. His feet end up on Jack's lap and Michel throws an arm over his eyes dramatics still high.

"It's official. In a few months, Johnny Cool is going to be a Saturday morning cartoon."

The idea is horrifying. When Michael had started Johnny Cool (or Kool Kat then) back in school he'd published the comic as a bi-monthly zine and it had been about sex and drugs and fighting the systems of power that kept people down. Granted, that had been way toned down in the years since he'd been syndicate in the papers but…

"They played me the theme song demo." It was bright and bouncy. There was a kazoo solo. The storyboard mock-up was littered with balloon letters. They didn't get it. They so didn't get it.

Michael groans again.

"I knew you could do it bud."

"If my friends from school could see me now."

"Hey! I am your friend from school!" Jack protests one offended hand to his chest. Michael drums his heels in Jack's lap not about to have his dramatic be overshadowed.

"My art friends!"

Peter sets Mary on Michael's chest probably because it's hard to be an anguished artist when a toddler is babbling adorably. Michael cuddles her close and tries to not look like a kicked puppy.

"Well," Jack leans in close, "let's see it."

"See what?"

"The check! Lets' see it!"

"Fine fine," Jack's face shines as he looks at the numbers.

"Yes, Daddy!" Jack waggles it in Michael's face, "You know what?"

"What?"

 _"We're in the money! We're in the money!"_ Jack flaps the cheque a few more times before knocking Michael's legs askew to pull Sylvia into his arms and into a dance.

 _"We've got a lot of what it takes to get along"_ She adds. She also adds, "Sorry Michael" but she doesn't, you know, stop singing and dancing so he takes that apology with a grain of salt.

Michael turns back to Peter because they're both jerks and Peter can at least pretend to be sympathetic.

"If younger me could see me now Peter."

"Yes, when you wore the beret and complained about the bourgeois."

Michael thinks that the beret made him look mysterious.

"But seriously, I hope the three of us… that you didn't feel forced into-"

Michael cuts him off, "No. I did want to do it But I also didn't. This comic was never supposed to be for kids and it's not remotely what I'd planned on doing when I was 20 but, the money Pete, I keep thinking about getting that house. And sending Mary to college. Mary's future. Our future. "

"I hope you mean you, me and Mary's future because I say we dump these tap dancing idiots."

"Aw no." Sylvia protests leg in the air, "Michael thinks it's funny."

"Besides," Jack protests, "this is clearly a chorus line!"

"Did you have to choreograph the worst day of my life?"

"Pshaw," Jack leans over to flick Michael in the head, "the worst day of your life. You said the same thing when you first got syndicated. You'll remember soon that people paying you for something you just thought up is amazing. Ok so, music?" He nudges Sylvia towards the jukebox.

"Champagne?" Jack asks.

"You bought Champagne? You didn't for once think maybe I wouldn't sell my creation?"

"What? I didn't buy the Champagne specifically for you-" Jack is a terrible liar for an actor, "But there's champagne in the apartment and we're all proud and happy so let's open it."

He heads to the kitchen and Sylvia walks back in nonchalant like they can't all hear the opening strains of Opportunities coming from the record player.

_I've got the brains you've got the looks_

_Let's make lots of money_

Sylvia presses a light kiss to Michael's forehead, "thank you," then goes over to help Jack with a serving tray laden with champagne flutes and a sippy cup.

"Jack's right you know. About creating something that people want so much. It's pretty successful."

He likes the idea of successful. The Younger beret wearing Michael is right, he's a sellout. But younger him also was told that he'd never amount to anything and so, honestly, beneath it all he's fiercely satisfied with the money coming his way. Men provided for their family, right?

"The things I do for love," Michael looks at Mary when he says it.

But it's not just for her.

 

**It's New Year’s Eve,1989 and Mary is 21 days from being three.**

 "She's engaged," Peter tells Jack -no preamble- landing hard on the barstool. Jack, who'd been doing a hilarious -if he does say so himself- flamboyant bartender impersonation all evening stops mid-swish a breath from spouting "hey there handsome what can I get ya?"

"What?" Jack follows Peters gaze to Rebecca dancing with her tall dark and handsome plus one and puts 2 and 2 together "Rebecca? And that guy? No kiddin'."

"He's an associate professor at Columbia. They met at a wine tasting." If Peter's voice was angry, or bitter maybe Jack would have a better grasp of what to say. Instead, his voice is just empty of emotions. It's freaky.

Obviously, this scenario needed anyone else but Jack but when Jack looks for anyone else he comes up empty handed. The apartment is crowded with their last big hurrah before being put out to pasture. He can't even see Sylvia and Michael is busy doing some awkward dance moves with a lovely blonde. Jack's on his own.

He pours Peter a whiskey and on second thought makes it a double. On third thought, he makes himself one too. Peter drinks it, stone-faced and doesn't say anything else.

"You, uh, wanna talk about it?"

"There isn't anything to talk about."

"Right."

Since Peter's glaring at the happy couple fist clenched around a whiskey glass, Jack doesn't find that all that believable. Peter and Rebecca had been a thing for years. They were never exclusive, they slept with other people but Rebecca was Peter's staple. And that Peter and Rebecca's thing had been an on-going concern for Jack and Michael. When they were on Peter and Rebecca would go away for a weekend or a week and the question always was: will Peter propose to Rebecca? Was he going to get married and leave? And what would happen then?

The unspoken truth is, Peter was their glue. Peter was their backbone. Because Jack is flighty and Michael is emotional and it's Peter that made them work. Peter was clarity and focus and Jack was a screw up so what was he going to do when Peter left?

Then, along came Mary (another Jack Holden screw-up) and then Sylvia followed and Peter was raising Mary with the rest of them and Rebecca drifted out of their life.

Good.

Jack doesn't say that.

"I'm happy for her," Peter says finally.

"Mmm."

 Peter takes this as disagreement, "I am!"

"Of course, you are."

"I just can't believe she's getting married."

"Can't you?"

"No. Well. I guess. Rebecca away wanted this…" Peter tries to use his hands to explain what she wanted then when it explains nothing just throws them in the air "and I couldn't… I guess she was right about me and commitment."

Jack snorts and Peter glares.

"What?"

"Yeah, you're ah real scared of commitment there, pal."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What's that supposed-? Pete. We bought a house."

Peter gives Jack a look. "Of course, we bought a house. We can't keep Mary in the living room forever! You're the one that keeps pointing out how awkward it would be when she's a teenager."

"It would be very awkward. So, we all talked about moving to a bigger place, Michael made the money for it and we found a place?"

"I know all this Jack. Remember how I was there for that?"

"Uh huh right, so we bought a house and the five of us, we're moving in."

Peter huffs at him clearly not getting what Jack is saying.

"All these sweet family friendly neighborhood stories we've been talking about. Trick or treating, Little Mary riding a bike, Little Michael planting, I don't know, sunflowers or something you don't think all that is a commitment?"

Peter scowls it clicking finally "It's not the same! We're not getting married."

"Well, no. It's not legal for one thing."

"That not the only reason!"

"Is it legal in Utah?"

"That's not what I'm talking about." Peter's voice has gone low and a thing about Jack that no one gets is that he understands when he's pushing a line, he knows when people are getting pissed at him; he can just not give a fuck.

"Oh?" he draws the word out like a Victorian dandy giving it multiple syllables. "What are you talking about?"

"It's not the same. Because…"

"Because?" He needles because he loves Peter but he also loves pissing Peter off.

"I'm straight,"

Oh yeah, Jack's heard that before and it's always been after what Jack thinks would be defined as not straight activities. It gets irritating to hear.

But he has heard it before and if he doesn't nod along well let's just say it wouldn't make a good start to their next step as "roommates". Jack brushes the irritation off and gives Peter's hand a light if slightly mocking pat, and tells him what he wants to hear, "I know Petey."

"Alright." Peter gives him another look and gets up from the bar. "Good"

Well, at least Peter's not upset about Rebecca anymore. So great, Jack's done he's good Samaritan work of the year. Still, he avoids Peter until before he knows it it's the countdown to Midnight and a whole new year. Heck, a new decade. Naturally, the four of them come together.

The ball drops, they all yell Happy New Year and the party begins a drunken no one really knows the words rendition of Auld Lang Syne. Most importantly, Sylvia kisses each of them in turn sweet little New Year’s pecks on the lips. Jack notices how Peter leans in towards her hand lingering on her hip. Jack frowns.

Michael would say "just leave it alone Jack," and Sylvia has been constantly afraid of making waves since she moved in and Jack would like to shake everyone but especially Peter because Peter is looking at everything the wrong way and since Jack's still feeling vindictive and a bit drunk he presses a big wet smackeroo on Peter's cheek.

"Happy New Year!"

"Get away from me," Peter bats him away and it seems good natured but underneath there's a look. He's not amused.

"Hey man, it's the 90's now. Anything goes" Jack jokes, and smiles because it's all just tomfoolery, and so he dances over to Michael and gives him the same.

Michael is nicer about the whole thing laughing and kissing Jack's cheek back and lets Jack drape over his shoulders. The two of them wander through their guest wishing them the best in the coming year etcetera, etcetera. Jack does his best to pretend he's not feeling extremely antsy over the whole -thing- which is terrible because everything was going just fine. Why did his have to be a -thing-? Why did everyone but him have to make everything so difficult?

The party winds down a few hours later and Sylvia's taken off her heels and Peter's put on something slow and jazzy and Jack plants himself on the sofa with half a bottle of red and takes it all in. It was crazy to think that in two days this part of their lives was over. Their apartment had been so much over the years: a swinging bachelor pad, a home base, the first place he'd held Mary and that was all over.

Maybe Peter senses Jack melancholy because he sits beside Jack pats him on the leg which is Peter for we're fine. Michael's shoving streamers into a garbage bag and gives them a look.

"You two going to help or keep lounging around?"

"Jack's lounging. I'm the responsible one so I'm supervising," Peter replies smugly.

Peter thinks he's so responsible but he can't admit when he's making a commitment. The only person Peter's has ever said I love you to is Mary. And Jack gets called a screw-up.

And Jack is annoyed again and still drunk so he puts his wine glass down and turns to Peter.

"Hey, Peter?"

"What?"

"Happy New Year pal."

The bad decision part of his brain takes over and he swings a leg over Peter hauls himself into his lap and gives him a real New Year's kiss. -Real in a mouth to mouth, lips parted, facial hair scratching, straddling a lap sort of way.

When the kiss breaks Peter is perhaps too stunned to even angrily push him off. The apartment is silent save for crooning Jazz and heavy breathing.

"Oh, I don't think I'm quite drunk enough for this." Michael said finally, "let me get some more wine."

"I think I'm good," Sylvia says finally and she joins them on the couch.

Peter's face went from shock to resigned then something a bit indiscernible and he leans closer to Jack fingers brushing up under the hem of his shirt. When they kiss again there's more purpose and Sylvia presses close on the couch.

Sometimes things progress naturally and sometimes you had to force the issue.

 

**It's October 31st, 1992 Mary is 5 and dressed like a werewolf.**

It's Halloween and there's a bustling party in the house. The party is a little more family friendly than the ones the guys used to throw. Mostly it's neighbors and people from Mary's play groups. It's still a production because the boys love a party and the house is decked out in orange and black streamers, nylon spider webs and fake candles. The parents and other adults mingle on the main floor while their kids are relegated to the rec room. Sylvia’s on her way back down from there where the children are enthralled with Mary and Peter's Super Nintendo when she catches a snippet of a conversation.

"It's just like you were saying Sharon."

"They're so public about it too."

The words don't register as important until the question "Which one is even the father? "is asked and Sylvia freezes.

"The one in drag," is the reply then the ladies cackle like that was the funniest thing they'd ever heard.

They mean Jack because the five of them dressed as The Munsters. It’s a theme costume. Mary wanted to be a werewolf and somebody had to be Marilyn and that somebody was Jack. He'd taken to it with gusto and the five of them looked bloody fantastic.

"But she isn't married to any of them?"

Sharon, Sylvia would recognize her voice even if she didn't hear her name, lives three doors down from theirs. The other lady must be her friend whose son is the same age as Sharon's. It was a nice gesture on their part to invite Sharon's friend and now they were gossiping about Sylvia in Sylvia's house?

"No, she's not."

"It must be so confusing for that little girl. How can she have a normal life after growing up in a…in a…”

“Bordello?"

"Exactly. I just don't understand it at all. Is the mother sleeping with all of them? What kind of environment is that?"

"You know what Paul thinks? Queers." They laugh again and Sylvia clenches her fists so tight her bones creak.

The conversation turns away from disgusting gossip to hors d'oeuvres as the pair re-enter the party.

Sylvia is left with anger bubbling inside. She envisions stomping after them and throwing them out. Telling them to mind their bloody business. Instead, she takes a breath and presses her thumbs to the corner of each eyes trying to stop any tears.

She sucks in another breath.

Well…

Ok.

Honestly, it was best that it was Sylvia that heard it and not any of the boys. Lord knows they took things to such extremes. Sylvia? She's subtle. She's a woman and she's British; her bones are made of subtlety.

She takes a deep breath, puts on her smile and follows into the party.

"Sharon, so good of you to make it," Sylvia says like slapping the other woman isn't on the forefront of her mind.

"Sylvia, thank you for having us. You have such a lovely home. Have you met Carol?"

So light, polite and amazingly two-faced. They chat a bit and once her prey is lulled she asks oh so perkily. "Now aren't ladies you going to dance?"

This is how subtly works: Carol did not bring her husband and Paul, Sharon's husband, is clearly enthralled with the snack table. They're flustered by the question and hopefully embarrassed.

"Oh well I'd love to but-"

"Oh, I couldn't, Paul isn't much of a dancer,"

Sylvia goes in for the kill with her toothpaste commercial smile and Mary Poppins accent, "Well that shouldn't stop you! Let me get you some partners."

Say what they want about Sylvia but she always has three partners -dance partners that is- on hand at any time.

She pairs Peter, such a handsome vampire all Dracula in a cape, with Sharon and Michael, who’s, with his Frankenstein mask off, all boyish good look and charms to Carol. She keeps Jack, surprisingly not surprisingly sexy in a frock and stockings, for herself. When she peeks over Jack's shoulder Sylvia can see that they are having a nice time and she should feel victorious. Living well is supposed to be the best revenge. But she still feels awful.

"What's up?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"Oh, sure," he says in his I don't believe you voice then spins her in an attempt to cheer her up. It does help because Jack is a great partner and because she loves to dance. They cha cha, both their skirts swishing together and it's fun and pretty and Sylvia is a better dancer than any of other ladies at the party (not naming names or anything).

And it's fine. Great even.

Sylvia would like to think she's the bigger person. But she ends up seeing the lasts few guests out and the last few guests are Sharon and family and Sylvia is not that big.

"It was a wonderful party you put on."

"Oh, well I'm not the party planner. It's those three. Very big on parties. They're already talking about a Christmas thing with chestnuts and mulled wine. The whole to do."

"Well, I'm looking forward to it."

"Oh no, dear," Sylvia's accent thickens and gets politer the angrier she is and she is very angry, "I certainly wouldn't want to force you back into my bordello of sin."

"I-what?" Sharon looks, shocked not ashamed and Sylvia gives her a smile so fake it hurts her face.

"Since we are apparently so very disgusting I will do you the favour of not inviting you over again. Goodbye, Sharon. Have a pleasant evening." Sylvia shuts the door forcefully in Sharon's face just managing not to slam it.

Yeah, that felt good.

 

**It's 1993 and Mary is 6**

When Mary starts school (real school not just Kindergarten) Peter panics. It wasn't just school that did it; it was a combination of little things. First Grade was -real- school and Mary was there from 9:00 to 3:00 unlike the shorter days for Kindergarten. They'd had to buy her -real- school supplies like pens, pencils, lined notebooks, and special shoes for gym.

While buying her new clothes for school she scoffs at the dress set Peter holds up:

"No! Elephants are for babies!"

And just a week before that, she'd loved elephants and now they're for babies. And she's only 6 but she says things like that or she pulls the hairbrush out of his hand with an, "I can do it!"

And there's the domesticity of day to day life:

Sylvia asking, "Could you pick up some milk on your way home?"

Michael, "Would you be able to pick Mary up from ballet today?"

Jack, "Where are my keys?"

Hearing the same conversation for years:

Michael, "Why do we have to buy brand named soda when no name tastes the same and is half the price?"

Jack, "It doesn't taste the same. Why do you care anyway? We have money to buy Coke."

Michael "Well it's my money so I'll buy the generic cola thanks. It tastes the same anyway."

Jack, "You know I was in a Coke commercial."

Michael "Did you sign a contract saying we have to drink Coke forever?"

Jack, "It tastes better. Coke is America's Real Choice."

Michael, "You were in a dog food commercial once, we don't eat dog food."

And then one day at the office a new guy, Andrew, tries to get people together for an after work happy hour and as he's inviting Peter, Mateo interrupts with, "No no no, Peter won't come. He's a family man. He doesn't go out."

Family man.

How did Peter get here anyway?

In his twenties, he'd wanted…well, it wasn't this. He'd wanted to be principal at a large firm, he'd wanted his name on a skyscraper, he'd wanted money, power, prestige the whole thing.

Then Mary came and it seems like it wasn't so long ago that he'd found her on the doorstep. But it's been years.

Family man.

And sure, today Mary was only six but in a few months, she'd be seven and then not much longer she'd be 18 and what then? Where was Peter family man then?

Thus panic.

And in that panic he finds himself at an office happy hour schmoozing his boss waxing poetic about the new project, plying the liquor on, and being charming as you do.

Peter ends up with a 6-month stay in Metz, France working on a new development with the firm's international team. At the bar, he accepted the proposal without talking to the others because he's not actually married to anyone.

Michael and Jack are angry,

"What were you thinking?"

"He clearly wasn't thinking,"

Sylvia is shocked, "You'll be gone how long?"

Mary cries.

Peter flies out at the beginning of January. He'd been to France a few times before, once in Nice for a conference and twice to Paris. The first time in Paris was before college during his twenty countries in 14 days’ trip and the second time he’d gone with Rebecca.

France had always been a fun change of pace, Europe a place where anything could happen.

He doesn't expect it to seem so…lonely. Calling home is expensive and awkward so he mostly talks to Mary and not for long. His colleges are only a few years younger than him but they seem eons apart. None of them have kids and none of them are married. (But he's not married either). He has a hard time enjoying his work since everything's been overshadowed by how poorly he left things back in America.

Peter compensates by drinking too much in the evenings.

So, lonely.

When the front desk clerk tells "Monsieur Mitchell" that his wife and daughter are waiting in the dining room he almost breaks into a run.

Sylvia looks nervous but Mary is all smiles her arms up so she can be picked up.

"Peter!" She squeals in delight.

"What is this?" he asks swinging Mary up into his arms.

"Hello Peter," Sylvia kisses his cheek then sits back down at the table.

"What is this?" and he'd like to be furious about Sylvia hauling Mary to another continent on a 12-hour flight but they look good enough to eat.

"It was spring break we thought it might be nice to take a little trip."

"France is not a little trip."

Sylvia shrugs and looks over the breakfast menu. Peter's too stunned to really counter her it’s not a big deal attitude and then Mary wants to point out her French braid to him. Then Sylvia asks about his job like she's asking how his day was and everything things falls naturally into place. After breakfast, they walk around the city.

Walking with Mary's hand in his he feels more at peace than he had in a long time. Did she get bigger than when he'd last seen her? She seemed brighter and more kinetic- more real.

It's a short day since Mary and Sylvia are tired from the flight. Mary starts drooping in the afternoon dragging her feet so he picks her up.

"Soon you're going to be too big to be carried like this."

"Nooo," Mary protests burying her face in his neck and he knows how she feels because he'd like to hold her in his arms forever. He holds her tighter and the whole way back to the hotel even though, she is getting too heavy to hold.

Back at the hotel, they tuck Mary in on the little love seat and he's not sure Sylvia didn’t bring her as salt to rub in a wound.

"Why are you here?" and it’s a desperate question.

"Jack thinks you're going through your midlife crisis."

Peter wants to snap back something at that, at what he thinks about what Jack thinks but he's suddenly just so tired.

"That's not what I mean. Why did you bring Mary? To punish me?"

"Peter. Darling." She wraps her arms around him and he shudders unexpectedly. "I brought Mary because she missed you and I came because I was worried. We were all worried. And because I missed you too."

"This was a terrible idea, wasn't it?"

Sylvia pulls back to give him an indulgent look.

"Was it so terrible? You love this type of work."

He pulls away so she isn't touching him, so he can cross his arms guarded. This would feel better if she would just be crueler.

"It wasn't worth abandoning Mary." And the rest of you, he doesn't say.

She makes a huffing half laugh. "Do you think I'd ever lecture you about abandoning Mary? Besides, abandoning is a very strong word, Peter. You didn't abandon anyone."

She sits on his bed. "Do you remember my friend Tegan? You met her at the Christmas thing last year."

The tangent change almost gives him whiplash. Even her tone has changed; it's light and simple like she was telling him something blasé over breakfast.

"Yes," He says finally after she looks expectantly at him

"Well, a while ago we were out for coffee and Tegan, she told me about this theatre troop she thinks I should audition for."

"Ok?"

"It's mostly woman featured productions. They do reimagining of Shakespeare that sort of thing. Avant-garde. Very popular with the university crowd. I ended up doing an audition and some scenes and they offered me a spot."

"That sounds…amazing. Why didn't you mention it before?"

"Their productions travels and I always thought...well I can't leave again because what if I'm not allowed back." There’s a great and terrible pain that crosses her face. "What would you all think of me if I ever left again?"

"It's not the same thing," He protests but she just shakes her head and continues like he didn't say anything.

"I never thought you would understand how guilty I felt wanting to do it." She waves a hand at the room they're in. "So, no. It's not a terrible thing Peter. It's like a butterfly."

"A butterfly?"

"You know," Sylvia holds out her arm slowly opening cupped hand. Letting a butterfly go. "when you love it."

"You mean when you love something set it free?"

"Yes. And I do so love you."

There's not much else to say after that. He joins her on the bed and Sylvia presses close. He's not great with using his words, never has been, so he tries to say it with actions an urgent kiss a soft caress that sort of thing. Making love.

Three days later he escorts them to the train station on their way to England since Mary has never met Sylvia's parents. It’s amazing to think that a tunnel is being built under the ocean connecting France to England and if it were a year later Mary and Sylvia could take that. As it is they'll take the train to the airport then fly over to England. He kisses them both goodbye and waits in the station long after their train departs.

They haven't gone two days when his "brother" gets the front desk to call him down to the lobby. It's not so shocking this time when he sees Michael but the sheer weight of his joy is surprising.

Maybe he's hugged Michael a little too enthusiastically since the clerk is giving them the side eye so Peter gets Michael to leave his bags and come out for dinner.

He elbows Michael in the ribs as they walk.

"What is this?"

"What? I had a meeting nearby! I thought I'd say hi."

"You had a meeting nearby. In France?"

"It's in Berlin but you know how close together things are in Europe." Michael can't pull off coy; he looks entirely too pleased with himself.

"You have a meeting in Berlin do you?"

"You know, I really do."

"And Sylvia just took a quick little day trip to France?"

"Something like that."

So, they have a nice dinner a few drinks and he knows Michael very well so it's not a surprise when once back in the hotel Michael tears him a new one.

"You're a real asshole Peter," isn't as harsh as it could be but it's certainly not unfounded.

"Yeah."

"Don't yeah me. I was really pissed you took off like you did. And I know, it's real selfish to get angry about it, I don't own you but that's how I feel and I'm not going to say sorry for it."

"You don't have to say sorry. I'm sorry."

"What were you trying to prove?"

"I don't know." And honestly, he doesn't know. Maybe it really is his midlife crisis. And Michael should understand because he's also not biologically Mary's father but Michael has also always been a found family sort of person. And Peter’s not sure how he can explain how life just took over and he didn’t even notice it happening.

"How long did you think we'd live together?"

"At the house?" and Michael's voice breaks aghast like Peter is breaking up with him.

"No, not the house. Calm down. The house is fine. I mean when we first moved in together. When we were still in school."

Because honestly that was another thing that had just happened. He'd met Michael almost 22 years ago, and Jack not much before that and when they'd moved in together it was just to save money. It wasn't some grand proposal or soul mates or romance.

But they had just worked somehow. It was strange how well they worked.

"Don’t you ever wonder how we ended up here? That we’re all still together? Don't you ever freak out about how fast Mary's growing up? Mary's getting so independent. She'll be a grown lady and she's not going to need me. She's not going to need us."

"Yeah, Peter, babies grow up. That's what happens."

"Well, what happens then? When she moves out? What are we then?"

Michael frowns, "We were together before Mary.”

"I know but"

"We can be after,” His voice is hesitant, “It hasn't been bad, has it? It doesn't have to stop because Mary's not a little kid anymore. I mean…it's not all about Mary."

Michael looks hurt and Peter feels like a heel. He pulls Michael in and wraps his arms around him.

"I wasn't trying to hurt you. I should have talked to you guys before I left. And no, my life…isn't what I thought it would be but it's good."

This is when you say things like I love you but Peter is terrible with words. He doesn’t have it in him. Still, he tries.

When he wakes up in the morning feeling refreshed like a knot inside him has been untied and Michael is sitting in the chair in front of the window soft in the morning light sketching in his art book. It must be him Michael was sketching because he shoots Peter a disapproving look when Peter sits up in the bed.

"The French artiste. How cliché."

"It'd be more cliché if this were Paris."

"And if you still had that beret."

Michael makes a face like he does every time Peter makes fun of the beret. Because sometimes you fall into a routine when you've known someone for most of your life.

"Let me see what you drew," but when Michael hands the book over Peter hauls him back into bed instead.

He doesn't make it into work that day.

Michael doesn't stay long because he really does have a meeting in Berlin ("I wasn't sure if you'd want me to stick around" he says with a shrug) so Peter walks him to the train station as well.

He'd kissed Sylvia goodbye in this same train station and he wants… well, it's the 90's for Christ sake and France. But Peter just hugs Michael goodbye.

"Auf Wiedersehen," Michael says sweet and Peter cups his cheek. They stand like that for a moment.

"Hey Pete," Michael takes his hand give it a squeeze. "I'll see you at home."

Peter watches another train depart feeling raw takes a slow walk back to his hotel.

He busies himself with his work which he'd been slightly neglecting in past week. They're going to the building site tomorrow which he needs to prepare for. But it’s good. He feels more engaged then now then he'd been in the last few months. It's satisfying.

He looks at the clock and it’s 10 o’clock.

He calls home. Jack picks up on the second ring.

"Are you lonesome tonight?" Peter asks, in a slight Elvis croon, even though it's 4 in the afternoon there.

"Heck no. I've got a bachelor pad again Pete. I'm living it up." Peter can hear Bob Barker in the background.

"So, am I going to be seeing you popping up here?" It's obviously wishful thinking but he thinks it anyway.

"Ha, not likely unless they kick me out of the play and they won't because I'm fantastic."

"Wish I could see it."

"I emailed you the review. Did you get it? 

"No, I haven't checked my email. I've been a bit busy but I'll look tomorrow ok?"

"Oh sure," and that’s Jack’s I don’t care about any of this voice which, of course, means he does.

"I'm sorry."

"Pardon?"

"About my midlife crisis. I miss you."

“Yeah, yeah I love you too.”

 

**It's 1997 and Mary is 11.**

Michael has a desk set up on the main floor. It's across from the south facing bay window so it gets drowned in natural light during the day. Instead of drawing he's struggling to write an introduction for what's to be a bound edition of Johnny Cool celebrating the comic strips 10th anniversary. He's not so much writing as feeling old and nostalgic thumbing through old comic strips and sketches.

It's been easy to tune out Mary's scribbling at the breakfast bar behind him as she works on her homework till he catches the under her breath, "bull shit."

"Language." He says automatically regretting how old that makes him sound.

"Sorry," She says but now he's tuned to her.  She's annoyed, grumbling under her breath. She huffs, furiously crosses out with her pen then she shoves her workbook away with a frustrated yell.

"What's wrong?" he asks, coming over.

"Nothing."

"Well, what are you working on?"

"Nothing," She answers as he pulls her notebook away from her, "it's stupid," she amends once he has it in his hands.

It's a worksheet with a fill in the blank family tree (shaped like an actual oak tree) that she's been filling out. Her gratuitously curly handwriting takes up too much room in the small allotted space for people's names and everything is overlapping.

"It's too small. And it's dumb."

"Well, we can probably fix the first thing." He gets some larger paper and nicer pens then the Bic garbage she uses for school. He lays the paper in front of her, "here we go."

"I can do it myself," she pushes his hands away.

"I know you can." He sits down beside her, "Let me know if you need any help."

He tries to focus back in his work but his eyes get drawn into following her pen strokes as Mary draws a new tree. It's not an oak tree per se as it has too many bends and dripping branches. She glances up.

"Does that look ok?"

"It looks great hon! One of the best trees I've seen."

"Don't be dumb."

It ends up more web like then traditional tree with Mary's name with the extra flourish on the Y floating nebulously in the middle with everyone connecting to her.

"What if Mr. Bell is mad I didn't use the worksheet?"

"I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Really?" she doesn't sound convinced.

"If he has a problem with it I can talk to him."

"Ok."

He manages to drift back into his work. He needs a theme to tie his opening together, some sort of grand statement about his art, but mostly he was young and thought it was funny. That does not a theme make.

"Hey, Michael?"

"Mmm?"

"Why don't you ever talk about when you were a kid?" Her pen is hovering over his name alone in its corner. Sylvia's name has her sister Alice and the unnamed Grandma and Grandpa sprouting from it and Jack has Grammie and Peter has Oma and Aunt Missy, his sister Lily and Uncle Tucker with cousin Billy all smushed under a misshapen leaf. 

"It's complicated."

Mary contemplates her tree for a moment. "Jack says that your Dad is a dick."

"Language."

"I know what it means."

"That doesn't mean you can say it in the house." He snaps and it's not about the language obviously but Mary's face crumples.

"Sorry."

"I'm sorry honey. I'm not mad at you. I just don't like talking about that stuff."

"Why?"

He shrugs, "I just don’t. I don't talk to him anymore not since I was 19 or so."

"Oh," and Michael wants that to be the end of that but she sighs and fidgets with her pen before shooting him a look that's fearful and sad.

"Will that happen to me? What if I grow up and I don't talk to you guys when I'm older?"

Of course, it's just the two of them alone in the house and it's not a conversation he'd like to have by himself when he can deflect on to someone else.

"It's not…It's not an accident that I don't talk to my dad anymore sweetie. He's not a very nice person and I'm happier when he's not around."

"Oh."

"Sometimes you have to choose your family so I picked Peter and Jack and your mom and you. That's all I need."

"Oh," she says again but this time seems mollified.

He waits but she doesn't ask anything else which, honestly, good. He's not ready to explain growing up with a narcissistic toxic man for a father. He'd prefer not to think about it personally. He stares at his intro. His editor wants it to be personal but no, it’s not a thing he likes to dwell on. He writes the word family then underlines it and adds question marks. He wouldn't have to talk about his childhood really. He could talk about school and meeting better people and how that shaped his art.

"Michael?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you gay?"

If he'd been drinking, he would have done a perfect spit take. As it was he just choked on his tongue.

"Who'd you hear that from?"

"No one."

"Did someone say it in school?" He is not prepared for these topics.

"No. Never mind."

He takes a breath, calm, collected. It wasn't a bad word. "Why did you ask?"

"Nothing. It was no reason." Mary shrugs, "It was on TV."

God help her If she was watching Jerry Springer again. "What TV?"

"Nothing."

"Mary," he tries a serious voice and she cracks.

"It wasn't bad. It was on the Simpsons. You like the Simpsons."

He does but he can't imagine they were using the word gay in a great way.

"Do you know what that word means?"

"Yeah, duh. I'm not stupid." She frowns not meeting his eyes, “When you’re a guy and you date a guy. So…are you?”

Oh man. He feels like there is so much more to unpack there that he feels qualified to answer. He tries.

"Sometimes. Sort of. It's complicated." He coughs, “Because you know I care about your mom too.”

“I guess.”

“What brought this up?” but, looking at her family tree he kinda knows the answer.

"Everyone else at my school only has two parents. And no one's parents are gay."

"Yeah ok, but so what?"

"It's weird."

"It's different but different isn't bad."

She doesn’t look convinced. “Of course you’d say that. You have to say that. You’re, like, my dad.”

He closes his eyes.

“When I was little my father told me that I was awful and that I couldn’t do anything and that’d I would never be anyone worth knowing. That I would only ever be worthless. And sometimes the world tells you that you have to be one only way and that that’s the right thing to be but he was wrong. You can live your life so many different ways. There isn’t one way to be.”

He breathes out, a deep long breath then opens his eyes again to see the effect of that speech. She cocks her head.

“Ok,” and she turns back to her work.

Well…alright then.

 

**It's 2001 and Mary is a teenager. It’s the dark times.  
**

It seems like Mary becomes a teenager overnight. Technically, she'd been a teenager for a while but she was finally acting in that oh so terrible teenager way.

One day she was their sweet little girl and the next she wasn't. One day she pulled all the posters off her bedroom wall and boxed up all her stuffed toys. One day she was sullen all the time. She answers questions about her day with a terse it’s fine and spends hours on the computer except when she should be emailing her mother and then she won't do it.

It was the elephants all over again. Every day it's a crapshoot if you're going to get a pleasant child or the raging monster.

The morning had started out fine probably because Mary had plans she was excited about. Peter is able to engage her and they talk a bit, about a TV show she likes and about what she'd want for supper. Then Michael comes in looks like he stayed up too late working.

"You want some eggs?" Peter asks.

"No," when he sits across from Mary he just stares at her.

"What?" She asks talking around her spoon.

"You have big plans today?"

"Uh yeah. I already told you guys about it."

"What were you doing again?"

"Ugh," she rolls her eyes, "I already said. I'm going to see that Jack Black movie with Annie and Jordan and we're going to hang out. It's no big thing."

"Oh ok. So, you're not planning on meeting someone you met in a damn forum?"

Mary drops her spoon back in her cereal bowl startled. "No.," she says defensively and much too slow.

"That's funny because that's what you told Annie you were doing instead of meeting them at the mall."

"How did you-"

"You left your messenger open on the computer."

"I can't believe you read my private stuff!" She swells in anger.

"It's on the family computer."

"That's bullshit! You can't spy on me like that!"

"It's damn good I did since you were about to do something very stupid."

"Well, it's bull that you're violating my stuff like that. Peter! Tell him he can't do that!"

Peter is so not on her side. Peter is having a heart attack, actually, "You can't go and meet up with a stranger you met on the internet. Jesus. What were you thinking?"

"They're not a stranger!” She insists, “They're my friend. We talk all the time!"

"You don't know them,” Michael’s voice rises and he points at her, “They could be anyone. People lie to kids on the computer all the time."

Oh god, she could have been kidnapped. She could have been murdered. The police could have been dragging the river for her body.

"You don't understand! Neither of you gets it. Her name is Gina and she's cool and funny and she's my age. We're friends."

"You don't know this person is your age. They could be a 60-year-old man. They could be a damn predator."

"She is not!"

"Woah, why are we yelling?" Jack's yawning and has bedhead.

"Jack," Mary wheels around to him, "Peter and Michael went through my private stuff and are acting like I'm the one who did something wrong! Tell them they can't do that."

"Um," is Jack’s startled response.

"No, what happened is you lied to us and were going to do something very stupid."

“What’s going on?”

"She was sneaking out to meet a weirdo she was talking to on the internet.” Michael accuses.

"What!?"

"She's not a weirdo, she's my friend."

"If this person is really your friend why didn't you tell us about wanting to meet them?" Peter counters.

"Because you wouldn't understand and I knew you wouldn't let me go because you never let me do anything. We've been talking for months."

"Well,” Michael says, “you're not talking to them anymore because you are banned from ever going on that forum again."

"You can't do that!"

"While you're under my roof you'll follow my rules," Michael replies.

"You're not actually my father! You can't tell me what to do!" Mary yells and it's true that's always been true but Peter didn't know hearing it out loud from his little girl would hurt so much. Michael clearly also takes it as a blow the hurt flashing in his face.

"Well," Jack has a tone that Peter's never really heard from him before, "how about since I am your actual father I can tell you what to do and you're not allowed on the computer anymore."

"What?" Mary yells, betrayal on her face.

"You heard him," Peter tells her.

 "You can't do that!"

"You better believe I can kiddo." Jack replies.

"I hate you."

"Go to your room!" Peter’s not sure he’s ever yelled at her before.

"I hate you! I hate all of you!"

The slam of her door reverberates throughout the house.

"Wow." Jack says finally, "That was sure something. I'm going to have a drink."

It’s 9 in the morning but Peter accepts when Jack pours him a glass too. No one says anything for a long time.

"Ok, well," Peter says finally, "One of us should go talk to her. Explain why we're upset."

"Not it," Jack say.

"Seriously?" Peter replies.

"Yeah, seriously."

"I can't go." Michael's looking at his hands, "I'll yell."

Peter's not sure he won't yell again. "What was she thinking?"

"She wasn't thinking. She's a teenager." Jack is taking this way too lightly, "I did much stupider things when I was a kid."

"Well, your daughter clearly inherited that from you." Michael snips.

"Don't put this on me. She's your kid too." Neither Peter or Michael add anything to that and Jack rolls his eyes, "Ok fine, let's -all- go talk to her."

"No," Michael shakes his head, "she'll think we're ganging up on her."

"Ok," Jack throws his hands up, "new plan. Lock her in her room until Sylvia's home and let her deal with it."

Sylvia would probably also call not it on that conversation. Oh god, one of them was going to have to tell her what happened and it was probably going to be Peter.

"No," Peter drains his glass, "I'll go." The thing is if you raise a baby you’re going have to deal with this shit eventually.

"Tell her you're not mad you're just disappointed." Jack says, "That's a good one."

Michael is more grim, "Tell her she is banned from the computer until she's 25."

God, why did little girls have to grow up into teenagers?

 

**It's 2006 and Mary's 19.**

Jack is picking his daughter up at the Vancouver airport. A few years back he'd had auditioned had been a bit part in some goofy Sci-Fi show that filmed in Vancouver. The character, Commander Caldor, grizzled Navy officer investigating the disappearance of his daughter, was supposed to be killed off early on. But fans liked Caldor and the man lived on and so Jack ended up spending almost half the year in Canada filming. It wasn't terrible. Eventually, they'd bought a condo for him to live in during filming and he flew back to New York when he could or the others would come up and stay for a bit.

Then, two and half years in he's flying back to New York because it's Mary's High school graduation. Their little girl is all grown up. Then like that, she was off to college. It was Michael and Peter who'd helped move her to into her dorm since Jack was back filming and Sylvia was in Boston for a play.

"Kind of funny how neither of her biological parents sent her off to college." Michael had commented in the email he'd sent with pictures of Mary in her new dorm and new school.

But it's not really not odd since Michael and Peter have been there every step of the way and are just as much her Dad as Jack is. Sometimes it seems like they’re more dad than Jack if he’s being honest.

Now it's her freshman year spring break and she's spending it in Canada with Jack. Lame. Why wouldn't she choose New York or San Diageo where Michael is spending a few months on a project? Clearly, she was sent by the rest of the family to spy on him because, come on that would totally be something they'd do. It's how they operated.

Whatever, it's not like he's unhappy to have her visit.

"You cut your hair." He tugs at the ends.

"Yeah, do you like it?"

"Like it? Honey, I love it."

He takes her back to the condo and she drops her stuff in the guest room.

"You hungry?" He asks when she joins him in the living room, "We could order a pizza."

"Ugh, all I eat is pizza."

"Well yeah. It's college."

"And look what it's doing," she pokes her belly and makes a disgusted face, "The Freshman fifteen."

Jack rolls his eyes at her non-existent fat, "You're not fat. You're beautiful and if you were fat, which you aren't, you'd still be beautiful. Why? Because you got your genes from your beautiful mother and beautiful father. You're welcome by the way."

"I didn't say thank you."

"You should."

"Fine, thanks so much for my genes. I'll still barf if I have to eat any more pizza. I can make us sandwiches. Do you have stuff for sandwiches?"

Jack does not. He's more into enjoying that smoothie trend and also copious amounts of red wine because that’s good for your heart these days. But if Jack admits that he doesn’t really have stuff like bread it's going in the report and that he'll get a call from one of the others shaming him for not eating right or they’d all show up with bread something ridiculous like that.

Yeah, he's not falling for that.

"It's fine, I'll make something." He pokes around his own cupboards like an explorer in a strange new land.

"Are you sure?" and he doesn't like the disbelief in her voice.

"Hey, Michael's the one that can't cook. I can cook. I cook."

"I dunno, he always made the best chocolate chip pancakes."

"You only like those because they're shaped like Mickey Mouse."

He manages to round up some pasta and pesto which is a real meal so there.

"I thought you'd cut carbs," Mary teases as he dumps some penne into a boiling pot of water.

"It's a cheat day."

She sits at the breakfast bar, kicking her feet as he pokes at the food. It’s good to have her around, to see her face. He’d almost forgot how much he’d missed her.

“So,” She starts, "I thought since you missed my birthday we could go out."

"For dinner? Sure, I mean I already started the pasta but sure since my cooking is so bad-"

"No! I mean out... for like a drink. Since I'm 19 now and that's the legal drinking age here." Mary does nonchalantly about as well as Sylvia does which is to say not well.

Jack grins.

"I can't believe you lied to the rest of your family about how you would take care of your lonely infirmed father when really you wanted to drink Canadian beer."

"Stop it. You're not even that old." She taps her nail on the counter. "So?"

"Is this because I'm your cool dad?" Jack knows he's the cool dad. He's always been the one she comes to when she wants something and not when she's having trouble at school or can't decide what college to apply to.

"I just thought it’s be fun. I dunno."

She’s oddly cagey and she has to have had alcohol before, right? He was totally drinking when he was 15. Man, she’d have to catch up.

“Let’s go. Absolutely,” he thinks for a second, “you can’t tell Peter. Or the other two. But you especially can't tell Peter.”

“Deal.”

They head out after dinner.

"Oh, here's a bar. We could go here," She says like she didn't give him the directions herself.

There's a rainbow flag decal in the window.

"Oh," He raises an eyebrow, "Is it lady’s night?"

She doesn’t laugh. She makes a face shoulders up to her ears, “No, it’s not. Never mind ok? Let’s go somewhere else.”

 _Oh_. This was a thing. One of those important things. A parent thing. Those weren’t Jack usual domain since he’s the screw-up.

“Com’on,” She tugs at his arm, “Let’s go somewhere different.”

“No, I promised you a birthday drink. Let’s go in.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’ll be your wing man. Help you hook up with the hottest lady in there.”

Mary shrieks, “oh my god! Jack, you can’t say that.”

“Sorry, I mean we’ll get you the one with the best personality. Only the best for my little girl.” He swings his arm over her shoulder and gives her a kiss, “In we go.”

 “I don’t even know if I’m…” She bites her lip and trails off.

“That’s fine. Let’s go in. Maybe you’ll find out huh?”

“Ok.” She leans her head on his shoulder, “You know, you are a cool dad.”

“I know kiddo. I know.”

 

**It's 2009 and Mary is 23**

Sylvia got a laptop for Christmas and Mary had to set it up when she visited. It’s great. Sylvia can check her Facebook on it and read the news. But the best thing about is there's a video call program Sylvia can use to call Mary. It's almost too futuristic to call Mary and get to see her when she lives so far away.

Mary who has grown into a beautiful woman, a smart young woman the kind of person who made you proud.

"Hello, sweetie!" Sylvia waves enthusiastically when she sees Mary's face on the computer.

"Hi Mom,"

"Can you hear me ok?"

"I can hear you great. You should fix the camera so I can see all your face."

Mary guide her through tilting the computer screen this way and that way until Mary proclaims the placement "good enough,"

"Oh honey, it's so nice to see you."

"Mom, I was just there for Christmas."

Ah, that was the topic Sylvia wanted to be on, "Yes it was a lovely Christmas. And you know, it was so nice to finally meet Lindsey. What a lovely girl. So pretty."

"She is."

“We had so much fun with her.”

“That’s…good.”

"And we were wondering when you two were thinking of getting married."

"Mooom stop," Mary covers her face as if Sylvia is saying something embarrassing, "It's too early to talk like that."

"Well, I mean you did bring her home to meet your parents. I don't know what that means nowadays but when I was your age-"

"You had an illegitimate child?"

That doesn't faze Sylvia in the least, "And you were one of the best things to happen to me. And now you're falling in love and I couldn't be happier."

"Michael!" Mary looks over Sylvia's shoulder, "Make her stop."

Michael comes into the room still too gaunt than Sylvia would like to see since his brush with cancer last year. But he's walking more easy which is good to see.

"Listen to your mother," He says sitting down beside Sylvia, "She's always right."

"Thank you, dear." Sylvia shoots Mary a triumphant look and Mary groans again. Sylvia ignores that and swings her legs up on the couch and wedges her feet under his bum where her toes like to be when they are cold.

"How are things with Lindsey?” Michael asks, “She's great by the way."

"She is great and things are normal and not anything you guys need to ask about."

"Normal huh? Because I heard that you two were moving in together in the spring. Which a big deal in my books."

"Oh, my god," Mary throws her hands up, "I can't believe he told you. Do the four of you have to talk about everything?"

"Yes," Sylvia says solemnly, "especially when we have our secret meetings about you."

"It's in the contracts we signed. Sorry sweetie."

"Ok fine. Yes, we're moving in together once my lease is up. No we are not engaged and we are not getting married. And tell Jack that he's a jerk."

"I mean, I'll do that," Michael says with a shrug, "but he already knows."

"Ugh. You people, are the worst. On that note, I’m sorry, but I have to get to class. You’ll have to make my life hell later."

"Ok," Sylvia wishes she could reach out and cup Mary's face, "can we call you back after dinner so Peter and Jack can say hi too?"

"Sure. I have to yell at Jack anyway." Mary blows a kiss at the screen, "love you."

“Love you,” they say together and the call ends.

Sylvia stares at the black box where Mary was. Sometimes she can’t believe that her tiny perfect baby was now a grown woman. Mary was finishing up college, she was a genius, and she could be getting married soon. Amazing.

“You ok?” Michael asks and Sylvia realizes she’s just been starting into the thin air. She gives him a reassuring smile and wiggles her toes.

“Yes. I’m ok. Just thinking about Mary,” it comes out soft and wistful.

When Mary was born, she weighed 6 pounds 2 ounces. She had electric blue eyes and a red face that looked like an angry old man. Now, she’s grown and beautiful and Mary couldn’t be prouder.

“Yeah,” Michael has a similar fond tone, “but she turned out great huh? I think we did an ok job.”

Sylvia smiles. _We_ is one of the best words in the world.

“Yes, I think we did.”

 


End file.
